


I’m Weak, My Love, And I Am Wanting

by tupti



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Boys, a little bit of whump, hand kissing, post mountain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tupti/pseuds/tupti
Summary: After the incident on the mountain, Geralt feels like he can never be forgiven. So what happens when he meets Jaskier three years later?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 461





	I’m Weak, My Love, And I Am Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> A couple nights ago I couldn’t really sleep and got the idea into my half-conscious head that I wanted Geralt to kiss Jaskier’s hand. So, yeah… It’s stupid, but sweet (I hope). 
> 
> Also, I have no idea the how manieth ‘first kiss’ fic of mine this is. It’s my jam, people, it’s my jam.

He had left Jaskier standing on that mountain three years ago.

Life had taken a turn for the worse after that.

From what Geralt had gathered – his ears perked whenever he heard Jaskier’s name dropped anywhere, he couldn’t help it – the bard had stopped playing _Toss a coin to your_ _w_ _itcher_ or any other song, in fact, that praised Geralt and his adventures. There was a time when he would have been thrilled by that fact, but considering the circumstances, it left a sinking feeling in his stomach. Jaskier was obviously prepared to cut all ties and who could blame him? Geralt had royally fucked up. This was why he didn’t have any friends.

With the lack of endorsement his reputation dwindled. Soon he heard them whisper _Butcher_ again, behind his back at first, but then more and more openly to his face. No more _White Wolf_ , no more _Friend of Humanity_. The wary eyes and foul mouths of villagers followed him like Jaskier and his praise had never existed. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it.

But in his darkest hours, alone at a campfire surrounded by unfriendly wildlife, he wished for that voice to chatter away mindlessly, wished for the warmth of a person with no concept of personal space, who huddled close to escape the cold. For the sake of all that was holy, he missed the fucking lute and the constant humming of sometimes nonsensical words. But Geralt had shown clearly enough that he didn’t deserve a travel companion, not the way he had treated him.

The village he rode into now was tiny, perched at the brim of an expansive forest. He hated those places. In them he always stuck out like a sore thumb. Even now, as Roach trotted past the first few houses, some of the inhabitants already seemed to be trying to kill him with their looks. There was nothing that could be done, though. He needed provisions, he needed a bath and he longed for a warm meal that was not roasted deer, as well as – if he was honest – a soft mattress underneath him for a night.

He didn’t get very far.

‘Hey, witcher!’

Hailed by sneering voice, he stopped.

‘Isn’t there another village you can pester with your demonic presence?’

When he turned around, he saw a group of men and women, some of them carrying pitchforks, for crying out loud, some making faces at him, some hanging in the back and looking on.

‘I’m not asking for trouble.’

‘Yeah?’ A broad, grimy man took a step forward. ‘Well, but maybe _w_ _e_ are!’

Geralt sighed. He slid off of Roach to appear a bit less threatening and tried to walk on. They wouldn’t let him.

A stone hit him in the back of the head, sending a sharp pain through his skull. He felt blood trickle down his neck. _Not again._ _Please, not again._

The villagers had formed a circle now. To get through, he would have had to use violence and that, he vowed, was not going to happen.

‘Leave us alone!’ a woman cried. Another stone hit his shoulder.

‘Butcher!’ someone shouted and the others joined in, chanting the word over and over again.

Geralt closed his eyes, resigned to accept his fate. How much could they hurt him with their pebbles and sticks, truly? Maybe it would make them feel better if each of them got a blow in.

‘My dear, good people!’

Geralt’s head shot up at the sound of another voice, vibrant, smooth, used to speaking to an audience – and oh so familiar. The witcher didn’t dare to look, but he knew those footsteps coming closer from behind him, he knew the smell that slowly wafted over to him: earthy underneath, flowery overtones from oils and lotions.

Jaskier.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen!’ The bard strummed a chord on his lute and it immediately transported Geralt back to the times when he had heard the song it belonged to nigh on every day. The villagers had been stunned into silence, too nonplussed to complain about the sudden interruption in their stoning.

‘Don’t you remember the tales of the famous White Wolf, fiend of all beasts, saviour of those in need, the one, the only Geralt of Rivia?’

‘Lies, all of them! He’s nothing but a beast himself!’

‘My dear man…’ Another chord resounded through the air. ‘Let me tell you a story and let me vouch for its authenticity, because I assure you: I was there.’ Another chord. ‘When a humble bard…’

Not in a million life times would Geralt have expected to be moved to tears by this bloody tune. He choked them down and risked a glance at the scene that unfolded. Jaskier pranced around, back turned to Geralt, belting out the chorus with passion. The audience joined in, most of them at least. Only a handful of villagers left with rude words on their lips that none but them and Geralt could hear over the ruckus Jaskier was causing. A public stoning, an entertaining bard – most of the villagers didn’t seem to be very picky about how they passed their time as long they were relieved of their boredom.

When Jaskier had finished, they demanded more, but he remained adamant.

‘Tonight, good people, at the tavern, you shall hear much more! Brilliant new compositions, old time classics, and everything in between. I shall be there all evening and the day after that. Bring your purses!’

Finally, the villagers gave in and one after the other ambled away

When Jaskier was about to leave, too, Geralt panicked.

‘Jaskier!’

Abruptly, the bard came to a halt, but spun on his heel very slowly. ‘Yes?’

He hadn’t thought that far. So he cleared his throat, while he tried to think. ‘Er. Thanks.’

Jaskier’s face remained unmoved. ‘You’re welcome.’ He turned around and walked away and this time, Geralt let him.

  
  


Of course, this blasted village only had one tavern. For a moment Geralt considered moving on, but the sun was about to set and Roach needed a well-deserved rest. It would be madness to leave now, and still, he was tempted.

Instead he snuck into the darkest corner the inn had to offer. There he was served hot stew that didn’t taste bad and lukewarm ale that tasted atrocious, but he welcomed its intoxicating effects.

The room was crammed and Jaskier greeted with thunderous applause as he finally picked up his lute and started to sing. In spite of himself, Geralt remembered the day they first met, back in Posada, and how the bard had been bombarded with food and harsh criticism. He had come a long way. Unlike Geralt, who seemed to have circled back to where he had started.

Tired as he was, the witcher had planned to go up to his room as soon as he had finished his supper, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He hadn’t heard Jaskier’s voice in three years and it felt like balm for his sore soul. So he remained, closed his eyes and listened and for a while he was transported back to happier times. Oh, but then…

‘The fairer sex, they often call it. But her love’s as unfair as a crook…’

Geralt remembered this one. Jaskier had written it during their hunt for the dragon, humming parts here and there while they were making their way up the mountain. He had never gotten to listen to the finished piece due to their separation after that. Due to his own monstrous stupidity.

‘Boring!’ a female voice from the audience hollered and got a few laughs. Geralt narrowed his eyes, but from his hidden vantage point he couldn’t make her out. ‘Play _Toss a coin_!’

She got support form a considerable chunk of the audience, but Jaskier ploughed on.

‘I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting…’

For the first time, Geralt heard the lyrics in any coherent order. Was it meant as a warning about Yen? It was as if Jaskier had known that the witcher was going to hurt him on her account. His jaw clenched. This was getting emotionally messy and he was not prepared for it.

Before he could make the decision to finally leave, the song was over. Just for a second, he thought he saw Jaskier’s gaze flutter towards him, but he could have been mistaken.

‘ _Toss a coin_!’ The woman did not relent.

‘Allow me a break, good people, before I continue to entertain you with songs as fresh and as new as a sapling in spring. But first, this throat needs the soothing touch of ale and a mouthful of fresh air.’

He put down his lute, took up a tankard and clambered through the audience to slip out the door. Geralt was about to finally make his way up to his room, when three men caught his eye who left right after Jaskier. Hadn’t they been among the ones who had been upset that their impromptu stoning had fallen through? They quite possibly were planning to vent their anger to the person they considered responsible.

Geralt hurried to follow them, but it proved difficult to navigate his way out the jam-packed tavern, especially now that everybody was flocking to the bar. He had to shove and push his way through until he finally stood outside. Luckily, it was no mystery where the three men had went. Just around the corner of the building he heard them sneering in hushed voices, then he heard a fist connect to soft flesh, he heard a stein fall and shatter.

He struck the first one of them down, before any of the party, including Jaskier, had realised he was there at all. The second one went to the ground just as fast, but the third, sensing his fate, pulled a knife and, without warning, stabbed at Jaskier.

The bard howled and keeled over, pressing his hands to his face, distracting Geralt long enough to give number three a head start, but no more than that. The witcher caught up with him quickly and seized him by the collar.

‘Where do I find a healer in this godforsaken place?’

The man was shaking and reeking of fear. ‘Right over there,’ he muttered, pointing down a road. ‘Please don’t kill me.’

Geralt knocked him out without hesitation, then returned to Jaskier, who was struggling to get on his feet. The witcher lent a helping hand and the bard took it and let him steady him.

‘Look at me.’

Jaskier obeyed, out of reflex probably. His face was covered in blood, so that Geralt couldn’t see where he had been struck. Trying to assess the damage, he dabbed at Jaskier’s cheek with his sleeve, but the bard groaned and flinched away from his touch. He didn’t press for it.

‘Come on, there’s a healer down the street.’

Jaskier leaned heavily on him as they made their way into the direction the third man had pointed. It had to be the shock more than anything else, he couldn’t have been too badly hurt. The healer’s house was easily found and they were beckoned inside by a stout woman in her fifties who took one look at Jaskier, nodded and asked him to sit on a table.

‘Nothing too bad, from what I can see,’ she confirmed Geralt’s hope, while she gathered her equipment. ‘But let’s get rid of all that blood and have a proper look.’

She took a neatly folded white cloth and got to work at the bard’s face. Jaskier winced every now and then, but bore her cleaning without complaining.

Geralt tilted his head and watched him. Usually, the bard would not have refrained from theatrically voicing his suffering, already composing a ballad about it in his head. But he remained silent. Maybe it was Geralt’s presence that had gotten him down. He should leave.

‘Since you’ll be alright, I’ll just…’ He headed towards the door without waiting for an answer. He wasn’t expecting one.

It was the healer who didn’t agree with his decision.

‘I could use you here.’

Her voice was calm, but stern. She waved Geralt towards her and he followed automatically. Somehow he trusted this woman, perhaps because she had not so much as raised an eyebrow when a witcher had stood outside her door in the middle of the night, dragging a bleeding bard with him.

‘Now, listen.’ She turned to Jaskier. ‘Good news is, you could have lost an eye and you didn’t.’

‘Lucky him,’ Geralt growled, when the bard didn’t comment. ‘What’s the bad news?’

‘It’s a big cut you got there and right under your eye. Pretty deep and long and it needs stitches. I’m not going to lie: It will hurt. Nasty place for getting stitches.’

Jaskier grew a bit pale, but nodded.

‘Lie down.’ The bard did. The wound was still bleeding and Geralt wondered how much blood he had already lost. ‘And you.’ The healer turned to the witcher. ‘Hold him steady for me?’

Geralt’s jaw clenched. His eyes fluttered down to meet Jaskier’s to ask silent permission. After a moment of hesitation the bard nodded. The healer produced a piece of leather and for the first time, Geralt detected pity in her face.

‘Bite down on that, boy.’

Haltingly, Jaskier did as he was told. His eyes searched Geralt’s, fear written clearly into them. As if the three years hadn’t happened, the witcher bowed down to him. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ he whispered. ‘I’m here with you.’

The healer got to work. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s muscles twitch with every stitch. His breathing got heavy and now and again he grunted around the leather that he bit down on hard.

‘Not much longer,’ Geralt mumbled. ‘You’ll get through this.’

Jaskier’s hand clenched around his arm, nails digging so deep into his skin that he drew blood. The witcher didn’t mind, in fact, hardly felt it. He was occupied with keeping Jaskier from flinching too much and making the healer stab a needle into him where it didn’t belong. On this single task he concentrated as hard as he could, so he didn’t have to think about Jaskier suffering because of him, and only him. Again.

After the healer had finished the suture and cleaned Jaskier’s face, Geralt once more got ready to leave. But the bard’s hand was still clenched around his arm and didn’t let go, even after his body relaxed into the comfort of the aftermath of intense pain that had been overcome.

‘If you have anything to say to me, now is your chance,’ he muttered.

Geralt froze where he stood while the healer tidied up around them. Only after she had excused herself and vanished into the adjacent room, did he manage to articulate what he was thinking.

‘I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me.’

Jaskier huffed. ‘And for people to think that out of the two of us, I am the drama queen… So?’

So? _I’m a horrible person, that’s what. If ‘person’ is the right word at all._ Geralt bit his lip, his mind racing, fishing for something, anything, appropriate to say, but Jaskier wasn’t patient. With a sigh he dropped his hand from Geralt’s arm.

‘Nevermind. I thought after three years even you might have come up with something you would like to say to me in case we ever met again. Apparently, I was mistaken.’

‘I didn’t mean it!’, Geralt blurted out. ‘I… A lot happened on that mountain. And before. I let it out on you.’

‘Yeah, what else is new?’

Helplessly, the witcher threw his hands in the air. ‘Then what do you want from me?’

With some difficulty Jaskier heaved his upper body into an upright position. ‘Have you never in your life apologised to anyone?’

‘I…’

‘No, that’s not what you do, right? Instead you suffer silently and brood about the wickedness of the world.’

‘Fine,’ Geralt growled between bared teeth. ‘I’m sorry.’

The bard rolled his eyes. ‘That sounded convincing.’

‘Damnit, Jaskier, what else am I supposed to say? Of course, I’m sorry! I have been sorry every day of every week that has passed since I last saw you. I haven’t apologised, because I don’t deserve your forgiveness! If I can do anything to redeem myself, I will, but I don’t know what that could be.’

Jaskier’s face softened. Then he smiled and extended his right hand to Geralt. ‘You can kiss my hand.’

The witcher furrowed his brow in confusion. ‘What?’

‘You heard me, but you’re just so… typically you. You think you must flay yourself with the cat o’ nine tails to be worthy of forgiveness, when all it takes is a small token of affection and humility.’

‘You’re serious.’

Jaskier raised his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t joke about chivalry!’

The witcher snorted with suppressed laughter and Jaskier sighed.

‘Fine. I won’t force you.’

He dropped his hand, but Geralt caught it in his and held it there for a moment, before he smirked and bowed forward to press a soft kiss to the knuckles. He felt the bard’s breath hitch and while raising his head, peered up at him. His cheeks had flushed in a dusty rose, his blue eyes opened wide in surprise. The sight made Geralt’s heart skip a beat.

‘I can’t believe you flirted me into chivalry,’ he muttered, while he gently stroked his thumb over the back of Jaskier’s hand.

The bard dropped his jaw in indignation. ‘I did not flirt you into anything! But I still forgive you.’

Geralt shook his head in wonderment. He might have superhuman strength and speed and all that, but Jaskier had his powers too. He could bring levity to any situation. Mere hours ago Geralt _had_ been brooding about the wickedness of the world and now here he was with a smile on his face and the forgiveness of the one person that meant the most to him. Gently he rested Jaskier’s hand back at his side.

‘Thank you. I honestly thought I was beyond forgiveness.’

The bard softly shook his head. ‘Nobody is beyond forgiveness.’ His face darkened. ‘Except for the cunt who cut my face!’ He gingerly touched the suture under his eye and winced. ‘If this leaves a scar, I swear…’

Geralt tilted his head. ‘Take it from me: Women will love it.’

Jaskier smiled sadly. ‘Hm. You know, I haven’t really… during these past three years… It gets monotonous after a while, doesn’t it? All these people and it never really means anything…’

‘Did the cuckolds kick you in the balls once too often while I was gone?’, the witcher asked, but the joke fell flat and suddenly, an awkward silence hung between them.

‘I missed you,’ Jaskier finally admitted in a small voice. ‘It’s why I stopped singing your songs. It’s not that I wanted to ruin your reputation, I just… couldn’t.’

Geralt found himself dumbstruck. It had never once occurred to him that Jaskier might have been longing for him in the same way he had longed for the bard. He took a deep breath, but didn’t quite know how to articulate everything he had been feeling. Jaskier dropped his gaze. He seemed embarrassed and Geralt felt the urge to let him know that he needn’t be.

So he grabbed his hand instead and pressed another kiss to it, a lingering one this time. When he raised his head, Jaskier stared at him, again with those pink cheeks, lips slightly parted in wonder. Geralt couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and claimed the bard’s mouth with his own. For a moment, Jaskier was frozen in shock and the witcher almost pulled back, but then the bard responded, twisted his hand in Geralt’s hair and tugged him close.

Their kiss got more heated, Geralt clasped his hands around the back of Jaskier’s neck, when the bard suddenly hissed and flinched away.

‘Sorry,’ Geralt whispered. He had gotten too enthusiastic and had rubbed his thumb against the fresh wound.

Jaskier grinned. ‘See? An honest apology. Even though this time, it really isn’t necessary.’

The witcher smiled and gently combed his hand through Jaskier’s ruffled hair. ‘You know, I like scars, too. It will make you look dashing.’

The bard snorted. ‘Well, it might help to convince people that I actually am going on adventures with you. And it’ll surely make me fit in better on the road.’

‘You’ll come back then?’

‘If you’ll have me.’

This time Geralt knew exactly what to say, but didn’t. Instead he dove in for another kiss and swore to himself that he’d never let go of his bard ever again.


End file.
